Faeridae
by LadyDoroAnne
Summary: A look at the rarely explored lives of Tolkien's 'Wild Men', one girl in particular, an adopted captive named Faeridae. When she befriends a mysterious Ranger named Estel, her life is forever changed. Waaay better than the summary. Please read and review!
1. Chapter 1: Meeting

_Hey, everyone! I hope you all enjoy this story! I'll be updating Before the Ring (formerly Sméagol) and More Crazy Things soon, so don't fret! I haven't forgotten them! I know I said that my next OC would be Butterbur's neice, but I tohught this would be more interesting._

_I'm not sure if anyone has ever done a story like this one before, about the Wild Men that Tolkien describes in the books. It is my hope that it will be unique and very good. _

Chapter One:

Faeridae grabbed acorn after acorn, putting them into her rucksack, and looked over at her sister, Tacoma, who was nearby, gathering as well. Tacoma's sack was twice as full as Faeridae's, it's coarse fibers bulging from the weight.

Tacoma's mouth was pressed in a thin line, her face taking in the grimness of it all.

Where had all the acorns gone? They were a food staple for their people, roasted and pounded into flour, and this year had been an especially scarce growing season for them.

"Abundance has left us." Faeridae said, and Tacoma shook her head.

"It is the First Born, Faeridae. There are leaving these shores, little by little. The Wood-dwellers have gone, and the trees are mourning their loss."

Faeridae nodded.

She leaned against the rough bark of one of the old, gnarled oaks, and she could almost feel the pain of the tree.

She ran her hand over the bark, caressing it.

"You miss them, don't you, Grandfather?" she asked, using the word 'grandfather' as a sign of respect towards the oak. It was he that helped give life to the village, after all.

The departure of the First Born, the elves, unsettled her. What were they fleeing? Sickness? War? Were the First Born's gods going to destroy all of _Feadarda_, all of Middle-earth?

"Come." Tacoma beckoned her, and they started back for the village. "We can be of better use elsewhere."

Faeridae nodded, and the two walked out of the forest and to their village.

The village, although Faeridae was used to it, still took her breath away when she saw it.

It was little more than a collection of cone-shaped tents, made from deer hides stretched over tall lodge poles, but the center of the village was what astounded her.

In the middle of all the tents was a mound of grass-covered earth that was taller than any of the trees in the forest. It had been built by hand, by the ancestors of the People, who had carried earth, handful by handful, to form the immense mound.

It was shaped like a square prism, with sloping sides. Steps had been carved into one side of it, so their priest, Igashu, could climb to the top and communicate with the heavens.

The insides of the mound was a tomb, used to shroud the bodies of their dead chieftains, so that they could be with the People, always.

Curls of grey smoke funneled out of the tents and into the fading sky; the women had begun the cook-fires for evening meal already.

They entered their family's tent, which was marked by a painted eagle on their tent flap; the eagle was the symbol of their clan.

They sat their bags down, and went to the center of the tent, where their mother was stirring acorn porridge over the fire.

"_Anon ha, Mura_." Faeridae greeted her, kissing her cheek, and Tacoma did the same.

"Greetings, Mother."

Their mother looked up at them both, her face red from the steam coming off of the porridge, then glanced to where they'd set their bags.

"Those two bags were all you two could find?"

They nodded, solemnly.

Mura made an unhappy clicking sound under her breath.

"Ardmura bless us." she said, holding out her pious hands to the sky, as if pleading to Earth Mother why she had not made her trees produce more food.

"At least we have deer meat, and the Rangers will be coming soon. We can trade with them for provisions." Tacoma said, always one to look on the bright side.

Mura nodded, her worried eyes darting over to Faeridae, who immediately felt guilty for her pale skin, and her strange hair and eyes.

She had not been born into the tribe, like her sister, but had been adopted by the People when she was still a child.

Faeridae didn't remember much about her life before coming into the tribe, but she did remember the fire that had occurred in her town before she went to live with her new family. It had been large, terrifying, and so, so hot.

She still had scars on her feet and legs from being burned.

She loved her tribe, and her family, now; they'd saved her life, and had made her one of their own.

Faeridae had been taken to replace Mura's other daughter, who had died of a fever, and had taken her place, even her name. She had been renamed Faeridae by her new family, since she could not remember the name she'd had before she'd come into the tribe, and she didn't care. She was happy with her life, and was only distraught over the trouble her looks caused her family.

When the traders came, she had to hide from them. Her white skin and brown hair marked her. They would know that she'd been taken from the white village, and they'd take her away from them.

Mura was terrified at this prospect, and frankly, so was Faeridae. She knew that she had no place among the whites, with their strange customs. Even their language was strange to her.

Years of disuse had made her forget her mother tongue, besides a few snatches of language here and there.

The tent flap opened, and her brothers and father entered, the smell of blood still clinging about them.

"Was your hunt successful?" Mura asked them, and her father nodded.

"We took three does today."

A bit of the weight came off of the women's shoulders at the news. Perhaps they wouldn't starve, after all, if the Rangers came before the first snow of winter.

Her mother ladled porridge into clay bowls, and handed them to her sons and husband, then served her daughters, then herself. They ate together in silence, enjoying one another's company.

The meal was uneventful until, his hunger sated, her father leaned back onto his bed of hides and beckoned Faeridae over.

He held her cheek in his hand, smiling into her face.

"You have grown into a woman, overnight, it seems." he said, and Faeridae's stomach turned over.

He'd said the same thing to Tacoma last spring, when he'd revealed that he'd made an engagement agreement for her with Etu, son of the Bear Clan.

Who did he have in mind for Faeridae?

"Sahale, of the Otter Clan, has asked after your hand."

Sahale? Her friend, Sahale had asked after her, and her father was considering letting him wed her?

_Well, it could be worse_. She thought. At least she knew that she could get along with Sahale.

"It seems a good match, father." she replied, quietly, not wanting to appear too eager, or disappointed.

Her father nodded. "I think so, as well. Sahale is a good warrior, and he will be able to provide for you. Otters and Eagles have always existed in the old legends in harmony. This is a good match."

He leaned back, done speaking, and her mother brought him his pipe, which he puffed on with calm reverence, closing his eyes and savoring the blue smoke.

Her two brothers looked over and she could see the smirks on their faces. No doubt they'd tease her, once they were away from their parents.

Tacoma grabbed her hand, smiling.

She felt that Sahale would do right by her sister, and she could always do worse, after all.

"You will be happy, sister." Tacoma said, and Faeridae nodded.

"Yes. It is a good match." she said, still unsure about how she felt about the union.

~Break~

Tacoma and Faeridae were walking towards the camp, when they saw horses tied to the trees around the village.

Rangers!

"Go, Faeridae!" Tacoma said, shoving her sister into some nearby bushes.

"I'll be at the creek, Tacoma." Faeridae whispered.

"I will get you when they are gone." Tacoma said, and Faeridae made her way to the creek, which was far enough away from the village to be concealed from the white traders, but not so far away that she'd be in danger of wild animals.

She was glad to have her dagger at her belt, and her quiver and bow slung over her shoulder, just in case.

She sat down on the creek bed, idly tossing stones into the water, when she saw movement on the opposite bank.

She drew her bow, and aimed it at the interloper, a Ranger with brown hair and grey eyes. He'd seen her! Her heart pounded. She refused to be taken, even if she had to kill this man.

He put up his hands, in a sign of surrender, but she kept her arrow trained on him.

"I mean you no harm." he said, in Common Tongue.

The words were strange, yet familiar, and she felt she understood them…almost.

"Do you speak my language?" she asked, in the guttural speech of her People, and was surprised when he nodded, and repeated,

"I mean you no harm." He said, in the language of her People.

"Who are you? Why are you not with the others, at the Village?"

"I was looking for solace." he said, his hands still up. "I like being alone, sometimes."

Faeridae lowered her bow.

This Ranger may seem odd, but she felt that he meant no harm. He carried himself with a different air than other whites she had spied on. He seemed taller, more regal, more experienced, somehow.

"How old were you when you were taken?" he asked her, and she drew her bow again.

"I will not leave this place!" she said through gritted teeth.

"I will not make you." he said, gently.

"How can I trust you?"

"I too, was raised by an adopted family. Elves." the Ranger explained.

"The First Born?"

Faeridae lowered her bow, her curiosity peaked. Perhaps this was why the man seemed so strange.

"Aye. And I can see what it would do to you to be removed from your People. They are your people now, after all."

Faeridae nodded.

"I cannot even speak in Common." she said, stiffening a bit with distrust as the Ranger crossed the creek and sat at her feet, gesturing for her to do the same.

She sat, cautiously, on a stone, her hand on her dagger, her eyes on the sword that hung at her side.

"Not a bit?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"I forgot." she said, simply.

His grey eyes studied her intently, and she felt awkward under his prying gaze.

He took in every detail of the woman's apparel, from her dress made of white deer hides, to her moccasin-clad feet, to her brown hair, braided in the custom of the tribe, and her necklace, made from beads of dyed bone, strung together by a strip of thinly rolled leather. Her exposed legs showed off deep scarring, swirling around the girl's calves, tongues of flame carved into her flesh forever. These scars, however, did not retract from her beauty.

Her eyes were bright green, giving her an exotic quality, and she was tiny, built more like her own ancestors than the tall, thick-boned Wild Men.

"You are hiding from the others, I take it?" he asked, and she nodded.

"They might tell the other whites." she said.

"Your secret is safe with me." he said, smiling, and offered her his hand to shake.

She stared at his extended hand, mesmerized by the foreign nature of it, his pale skin, his dark hair that dusted his knuckles, the fingerless gloves woven of soft cotton, the calloused fingers of a swordsman, the nails cracked from use and lined with dirt.

She was accustomed to smooth, hairless hands of bronze, not to mention that she was unfamiliar with whatever gesture he was offering to her.

"It's called 'shaking hands'." he said, carefully placing her hand into his own, and showing her the up-and-down motion that accompanied the grasping of hands.

"It's how whites say hello." he said.

She drew back her hand, sitting it on her lap, away from him.

"I was eight summers when they found me." she said, relaying the story that she had no first-hand memory of. Mura had described it many times, but, like her other childhood memories, being found by the Wild Men was shrouded with a hazy veil.

"I was in the forest, next to a town which had been pillaged and burned by orcs. They found me, and I replaced someone's child. I have lived with my family ever since."

The Ranger nodded, thoughtfully taking in her story.

"You have been through much." he said, finally.

"Too much to lose what I have gained." she said, still doubtful that she'd be safe from his people.

He seemed to understand her meaning, and he bowed his head to her, touching his brow with the tips of his first and second fingers, a gesture of loyalty she'd seen the Wood-dwellers use before.

"I swear upon my honor that I will not reveal your presence to society, Lady."

"Good." she replied, wondering when Tacoma would come to fetch her. This Ranger, friendly though he seemed, was still white, after all. How could she trust him?

"Can I know your name?"

"If you give me yours." she said, and he smiled.

"Estel." he said. "Or Strider, if you prefer."

"I like Estel better." she said, her grip on her dagger's hilt loosening.

"I am Faeridae." she said, and she knew that somehow, this meeting would directly effect her fate.

_Something different. Do you like it? Should I continue? _


	2. Chapter 2: Raid

_Hello! Thanks for reading! _

Chapter 2:

"Faeridae, what are you doing?" Tacoma hissed under her breath, coming up behind Faeridae.

Faeridae was crouched behind a bush, watching the goings-on around the Otter Clan's dwelling.

"Spying on Sahale?" Tacoma asked, and Faeridae nodded.

"I want to know why he wants to take me as a wife."

"Then why don't you just ask me?" A male voice behind them said, and they both jumped.

Sahale was behind them, laughing, and Faeridae felt a hot blush rise in her cheeks.

"Tacoma, may I have a moment alone with your sister, please?"

Tacoma nodded, a mischievous grin pulling at her lips, and left.

Sahale extended his hand to Faeridae, helping her up.

"Come with me." he said, leading her down to the river. It the autumn light, it shone like liquid gold.

"You want to know why I want you as a wife. Have we not known each other long enough for you to know that I love you, Faeridae? That I have always loved you?"

"You are good at keeping secrets, Sahale." Faeridae said, somehow afraid to look him in the eye.

He loved her?

"Do you not love me, as well?"

"I do, Sahale." she nodded.

"As a friend, and not as a lover." Sahale said, his mouth pressed into a grim line.

"It is no matter." He shrugged. "You are a woman, after all. Love will come for you, eventually."

He took her hand, and pressed it to his lips, holding it there long enough for him to deeply inhale the scent of her skin.

He closed his eyes and kissed her hand again, more passionately this time, his lips moving up her arm, and finally finding the soft underside of her wrist.

A shudder moved down her spine, as she tried to keep a level expression.

She was not entirely repulsed by the gesture, but neither did she desire his affections.

It was a strange mix, she decided. She could do worse, though, she thought.

"Your father has spoken with mine, concerning the dowry." he said with a smile, releasing her hand.

"And?"

"We are to wed in the spring, after the snow thaws."

"Good." Faeridae said.

~Break~

"We should move the village." Artema said, her blind eyes glazed white. Her hands shook as she covered her mouth, coughing fiercely. She spat phlegm onto the ground, and Faeridae averted her eyes.

Artema was the village wise woman, and her advice was almost always heeded by the village elders.

This time, however, they hadn't listened.

Their argument was that there was nowhere to go, that their summer camp was full of whites already. Men from the village of Bree who stayed in the wilderness all winter, trapping beavers, otters, and muskrats for their valuable fur.

"What have you seen, Artema?" Mura asked, worry creasing her brow.

"I do not know. It's only a feeling." Artema shivered as Mura ladled a tea made from boiled sassafras roots into a water skin and handed it to the wise-woman.

"May this lessen your cough, Artema-mura."

"Thanks be to you." Artema bowed her head, and walked away.

"What do you think is going to happen?" Tacoma wondered aloud, when Artema was out of earshot.

"Nothing." Mura said, patting Tacoma's cheek. "Do not fret. All will be well."

Still, Faeridae could see that Mura was worried about Artema's feeling, despite her calm assurance.

~Break~

At dawn, they came. They were invaders from Bree, many of them armed with farm tools, swinging their pick-axes and swords with precision.

Hate and greed drove them, as they moved through the village, burning and killing whoever they could.

"Go to the forest, while there's time! Don't let them see you!" Her father told her, Mura, and Tacoma.

"I will not leave you!" Mura vowed adamantly, arming herself with a cooking knife, and standing beside her sons and husband.

"Go!" She said, to Tacoma and Faeridae.

Tacoma and Faeridae stood, their hands clasped together, unable to move.

How could they leave?

"Go!" Their mother commanded again, this time nudging them out of the back flap of the tepee, thrusting a bow and a quiver of arrows into Faeridae's hands.

Once outside, they didn't have time to decide what to do.

Their only option was to go into the thick forest, and hide there.

They could hear the invaders in the center of the village, and the screams.

They could hear the pings of arrows hitting against mail helms and chest plates, and knew how futile this would be.

"Come on!" Faeridae said, pulling Tacoma into a thick grove of trees, her heart pounding.

She hoisted Tacoma into the branches.

"Climb!"

She heard the language of the Breelanders, it's lilting, harsh syllables fierce on their tongues, calling to one another.

She turned back around, and saw that they'd been seen.

Several men came running towards them, moving at speed she had never expected from whites.

"Climb!" She said to Tacoma again. "Don't let them see you!"

She notched and arrow and aimed at one of the attackers, a fat one with a dirty blonde beard, wielding a scythe.

As she expected, it ricocheted off his helm and clattered to the ground. Faeridae cursed and tried again, aiming at his face this time.

It went through his eye and into his brain; he fell to the ground, dead.

She took another in the manner, and another, but there were too many.

In a few moments they were upon her, and had wrenched her weapon out of her hands.

They pinned her arms behind her, and kicked her to the ground.

"Let's have a little fun with this one, eh?" One of them said, with a smirk.

Faeridae gasped, and struggled, but it was no use. Four men were holding her down, and three more surrounded her.

Almost more disturbing was the fact that she understood what he was saying.

Bits and pieces of her native tongue had returned to her.

_At least Tacoma is safe. _She thought, biting her lip.

"I've never seen a brown-haired Wild Woman." One of them said.

One of them reached out his dirty hand to smooth her hair away from her face, and gasped.

"She's white!" he said, and she spit in his face.

He cursed, angrily, and slapped her face.

"You speak Common, girl?" he demanded.

She only glared at him, her fury seething through her burning green eyes.

"She must've been taken as a babe." one of them surmised.

"Girl?" The one she'd spat on asked, holding her face in his sweaty hands. "You speak Common? Answer me, girl!"

"You are not worth talking to." she said, in the village's language.

"I reckon not." he said with a cackle. "She's as savage as the rest. Hold her, boys. She spit on me, so I get to go first."

He pulled up her skirt as she writhed and screamed, and suddenly, he fell to the ground, stunned.

Tacoma stood behind him, looking triumphant, a large rock in her hand.

_Tacoma, you fool. _Faeridae thought. Now she'd be caught, too.

"Save yourself, get out of here!" Faeridae said.

Before Tacoma could strike another man, they had her pinned to the ground, too.

"Could we get a price for this one?" One of the younger men asked what Faeridae took to be the leader, a man who looked cleaner and smarter than the others.

"No." he said, unsheathing a knife. "She's too thick in the thighs, too broad in the shoulders. She wouldn't fetch a single silver piece."

"No!" Faeridae screamed, in Common, the words rusty on her tongue. "No kill!"

The men turned and looked at her.

"Oh, so you do understand?" The leader said, looking amused.

"Tie her, gag her, and put her with the others. She'll fetch a heavy price, that's for sure. Don't damage her."

Faeridae's eyes locked with Tacoma's, and time seemed to stand still.

"I'll be alright, Faeridae." Tacoma said, tears in her eyes. "Don't worry about me."

Faeridae fought at her captors, screaming and sobbing, until someone held a handkerchief under her nose. The rag stank with something cloying, and her eyes closed.

_Okay, sorry for that! I had to do this for the plot. Don't kill me. Please review!_


	3. Chapter 3: Rosebud Tavern

_Hi! Thanks to all my reviewers! (Even a flame I got over PM. All feedback is appreciated.) My first flame, too. lol_

_Karm Starkiller: I put these particular natives in an area around the outskirts of the Buckland forest, West of Bree. On the map, I found this big empty, wooded space between Buckland Forest and Fornost, and thought, "Hmm…what could go there?" _

_It stands to reason (in my opinion, anyway) that 'wild' natives could have migrated westward over time, -spin-off bands descended from Dunlandings- eventually settling as far as Arnor or even Forlindon, perhaps following food sources, or being pushed out of other lands by wars amongst themselves. This is, of course, complete speculation, but I thought it could happen. .pl/old_ Here's a link to the map I used! Hope it helps! _

_Thanks for asking this question, Karm! _

_Speaking of Karm Starkiller, if you haven't read her stuff, I urge you to DO IT, DO IT NOW! It is very good. _

_Sorry for that ultra-long author's note. Lol On with the story. _

Chapter 3:

Faeridae woke in a square room. The walls were grey, cracking wood, chinked with mud, and a small fire crackled in the corner, letting off more smoke than warmth.

A woman sat in the corner of the room, wearing a dress of scarlet that fell past her pale, wrinkled shoulders. The woman was past fifty, easily, as was evident by her wrinkles. She'd tried to make up for her deficiencies with rouge, but it has only made her look more fierce, especially paired with her hard, black eyes.

"Good. You're awake."

"What is this place?" Faeridae asked, groggily. "Where am I?"

With a start, she realized that her hands and feet were bound with strong cord.

"You can't speak savage here, missy." the woman instructed. "It'll only get you in trouble."

Faeridae understood what the woman was saying, but speaking was an entirely different matter. The words felt awkward in her mind and on her tongue, and she sighed.

"Words…words no good." she said, this time in Common.

"Where I…at?" Faeridae asked, vexed by how stupid she must seem to the woman.

"You are in the village of Bree, at the Rosebud Alehouse. My name is Cabeth. I'll be taking care of you for now."

Faeridae's eyes burned with tears.

"The others?" she asked, and Cabeth shook her head.

"Don't think about such things now. You've had a hard time of things, I wager. But there are a few things you need to know if you want to survive here. One, speak only when spoken to, and don't go saying much when you do. Things like 'Yes, sir' and "No sir' and 'Thank you, sir' might save your life."

Cabeth put her hand on Faeridae's forehead, as if checking for fever.

"Girl? Can you hear me, girl? Did you understand? Repeat what I told you, or you'll get a flogging."

"Yes sir, no sir, thank you sir." Faeridae repeated, feeling numb.

What sort of place was this?

The woman thrust a mug of something hot in her hands.

"Drink." the woman said, and Faeridae obeyed.

The hot liquid burned her tongue, but she was afraid of this woman, and obeyed. She seemed like she might caress one minute and strike another, without any warning.

"What do you want with me?" Faeridae said, realizing with distaste that she could speak, however rustily, the language of her biological people.

"It's not what I want, but whatever Mr. Morvan wants, do you see?"

"Who is Mr. Morvan?"

"He is your new master, and he'll get what ever he wants out of you, do you hear? He has many girls, and he always gets what he wants from them."

"What you talking about?" Faeridae asked, and Cabeth frowned.

"You'll find out pretty soon, I'm sure. One thing Mr. Morvan wanted me to find out though, was whether or not you are unmarried. And if you aren't married, whether or not you are _untouched_."

"Untouched?" Faeridae shuddered with the realization of what she was here for.

This was a whorehouse!

"I'm not for sale. I have been promised." She spat back, disgusted.

"Engaged, eh? Well, that doesn't matter. As long as you're unsullied, Mr. Morvan can fetch a hefty price for you, hm? Do I have your word that you are untouched?"

"What do you think I am?" Faeridae asked with contempt, struggling against her bonds.

It was no use, though.

"Oh, little heathen, you'll learn in time that there's no use fighting your fate."

"How do you know?" Faeridae retorted, hot, angry tears flowing down her face.

"Because." Cabeth said grimly. "I stopped fighting a long time ago."

"I will return to the others, you just see if I won't!" Faeridae declared, vehemently.

"Little one, that can never happen." Cabeth said, looking Faeridae in the eyes.

"Why not?" Faeridae demanded.

"The others are dead." Cabeth replied.

~Break~

"Bree?" Elrohir sighed.

He hated the human village; he found it coarse and foul.

"Would you rather sleep on a bed or on the ground?" Aragorn asked him, grinning when Elrohir sighed.

"I should have gone to Lothlorien on holiday, with Elladan."

"You'd only get bored there, and get into trouble." Aragorn grinned.

Elrohir laughed.

"That's true, brother. But why Bree?"

"Like I said, it's either the Prancing Pony or a pallet on the ground."

"Hmmm, it's a hard decision." Elrohir said, frowning, then thought of how Aragorn might catch cold sleeping out in the open. There was a sharp chill in the air, and sometimes Elrohir forgot that humans were effected by the elements than elves were, especially around Aragorn, who barely seemed human to him.

"I suppose we could go there." Elrohir conceded. "But I'm not leaving my room. When the humans notice my ears, they gape at me, and I find it unsettling."

"Very well." Aragorn replied, glad that now he could look forward to a warm bed, a hot supper, and a mug of the Prancing Pony's beer.

~Break~

"Come on, girl, get up." Cabeth said, pulling Faeridae out of bed.

The woman was armed with a bar of soap and a warm basin of water.

Faeridae didn't move as Cabeth stripped her of her clothes, and scrubbed her from head to toe.

Cabeth frowned as she noticed the scars on Faeridae's legs.

"We'll have to cover those, if we're to get a good price, eh?"

Faeridae didn't reply, but only stood stoically, her face pale and drawn, quietly resigned to her fate.

There was no use fighting anymore, not if what Cabeth had said was true. If her people were dead, what point was there to living?

Cabeth took a bottle of oil from a shelf along the wall, and rubbed it all into her skin. The warm scent of hazelnuts did little to soothe her, though.

Cabeth dressed her in a worn frock of red silk, and escorted her out of the room into a corridor.

"Where are we going?" Faeridae asked her, dully.

"To Mr. Morvan." Cabeth replied.

_More soon! Please review!_


	4. Chapter 4: When In Bree

Sorry it's been so long! Here's an extra long chapter to make up for it!

Chapter 4:

When they entered The Prancing Pony, Aragorn was taken aback by how slow business was that evening. There were only two tables of patrons there, older men quietly chatting and sipping at steaming toddies.

Aragorn and Elrohir sat at a table in the back, Elrohir's hood pulled up, hiding his pointed ears and chiseled Elven features.

"You don't have to do that. That hood of yours makes me look as if I'm dining with a Ringwraith." Aragorn said, and Elrohir scowled at him.

"Do not toss around the names of our enemies so lightly, Estel."

"I'm Strider, here." Aragorn said.

"You have too many names with me to bother with them. Me, I've lived hundreds of years, and one name is enough for me. But you, you're only twenty-five and you have enough names to last you millennium upon millennium."

"It is not my fault that you are too daft to keep them all straight, Elrohir." Aragorn smirked, and quieted as the inn keeper sauntered over to their table.

"Burl!" Aragorn exclaimed, clapping the chubby man on the back.

"Well, if it ain't Strider!" Burl Butterbur exclaimed. "How have you been, lad?"

"Well, thank you. How is business?" Aragorn asked, trying to be as polite as possible.

His mouth watered for beer and something hot to eat.

"I can't complain, though the Rosebud gives me some heavy competition these days."

"I'm sorry to hear it. How are your children?"

"Well. Astrid and Ayva are just beginning to talk, bless them, and my little Barliman grows every day. Everyone says he's the spitting image of me."

"Happy to know." Aragorn said.

"Who is your companion?" Butterbur asked, looking suspiciously at the cloaked figure.

"He is my brother. And very self-conscious about his looks." Aragorn answered.

Butterbur politely ignored the comment, and changed the subject.

"I thankee gentlemen for coming here other than the Rosebud Tavern. Most of my clientele of late has been naught but old codgers, too tight-fisted with their cash. Most of the young men prefer to frequent the Rosebud."

"Well, you needn't worry about us straying. No beer is like what you've got here." Aragorn said.

"Well, I'll be! Here I am talking to you two, when you're likely as parched as a fish out of water! Let me get you mugs, straightaway."

"And supper, too, if you don't mind, Burl."

"Of course. I'll be right back, and you can fill me in about all the doings outside of Bree. It's been awhile since we've talked, Strider."

"Too long indeed." Aragorn replied as him stomach growled.

Burl Butterbur shuffled quickly to the kitchen to get repast for his hungry guests.

"I don't suppose he'd have any wine back there?" Elrohir asked wistfully.

"Probably not, seeing how elves keep their brewing techniques so secret." Aragorn smiled.

"Come on, Elrohir, it's not so bad. I like it."

"You are a man of questionable tastes, brother."

"Oh, go kiss an Orc."

"Your mother is an Orc." Elrohir retorted.

"Your mother is a Nazgul." Aragorn replied.

"Well played." Elrohir relented, grinning.

"Always." Aragorn smirked, and Burl Butterbur came out with two tall mugs of beer and plates piled high with sausages, fried potatoes, big slices of thick-rinded cheese, hot brown bread, and briny pickled fishes."

"Hail Eru." Aragorn said, and dug in.

Elrohir was a bit more reluctant to eat what he considered 'coarse human fare' but hunger is the best seasoning, even to an elf used to having the best of everything.

"Are you staying for the night?" Burl asked.

"Of course. Little more seems better to a Ranger than a warm bed to sleep in."

"I'll have my best room heated up for you two. There are two beds, which doesn't allow for much walking room, but it's the warmest hearth in the place."

"Thank you very much, Burl."

"No, thank you." Burl replied. "If you haven't noticed, I need all the business I can get."

"In that case," Aragorn said, pulling gold from the pouch on his belt and placing it on the table, "How about another round of beers?"

"In a jiff." Burl replied with a smile and went back into the kitchen.

"Father would not have you spending your money on so much beer." Elrohir said.

"It's cold out; I need warming up. Perhaps I'll get a toddy."

Elrohir wrinkled his nose.

"Whiskey is for drunkards."

"I'm no drunkard, brother." Aragorn said, downing what remained in his first tankard.

Elrohir rolled his eyes, and sniffed his own tankard with disgust.

"I'll just have tea." he said, pushing it away.

"More for me." Aragorn shrugged, obstinately.

"You'll get drunk."

"I like getting drunk. It frees the mind." Aragorn replied.

In response, Elrohir grabbed Aragorn by his shirt collar and hoisted him up out of his seat.

"Hey!" Aragorn exclaimed, and Elrohir clapped a hand over his mouth.

Aragorn bit his hand, and Elrohir pulled it away, but didn't loosen his grip on his brother's collar.

Elrohir dragged his struggling brother out the door of the inn, much to the amusement of the patrons.

Elrohir pressed him against the side of the building.

The streets were quiet; no one was out in the cold, so Elrohir felt that it was alright to talk freely enough, if he kept his voice down.

"No fair! You can't use Elven strength against me! Father said-"

"Father isn't here, Aragorn. Don't you see? You are to be king. You can't be a slovenly drunkard."

"I'm not slovenly, Elrohir. I've never even been drunk, except for that one occasion at camp. And you shouldn't voice such secrets!"

"There's no one to hear us."

"How do you know?"

"Quit changing the subject. I will not have my baby brother be a drunkard."

"I'm not a drunkard, or a baby. And I already told you, I've only been drunk once, and it was an accident."

"You forget that I have seen you too many times thoroughly in your cups. A bit of indulgence, sure, but you must hold yourself to a higher standard than other men. You are Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Isildur's Heir, and-"

"Don't remind me. I'll be fine, Elrohir. You should be concerned for yourself."

"And why is that?"

"You're beginning to sound like Father."

"I'll take it as a compliment. Don't you see, Estel? You have a far greater destiny than anyone alive. Do not squander it."

"Destiny? I do not want my destiny."

"Estel!"

"I'll take it if I must, but I do not want it. I only want to live my life in the ways of my choosing. Not being cooped up in some White Tower, dealing with councilors and court politics and-"

"You are young and your blood yet boils. You will see in time that kingship is only the path your fate will take. You might as well embrace it."

Aragorn sighed.

"I am the master of my own fate! Not you or Father or anyone else! I didn't ask to be of Isildur's line!"

"We do not always get to choose." Elrohir said, forcefully.

Aragorn sighed again. This was going nowhere.

"Let me go." he said, and Elrohir released him.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm taking a walk."

"Alone?"

"Please, Elrohir. I'm not a child."

"…Your mother is a cave troll!" Elrohir called after him, seeking reconciliation. Aragorn seemed upset with him.

Aragorn shrugged and hurried down the street.

"Be careful, Estel." Elrohir said.

"I'll be back." Aragorn replied emotionlessly, and walked away, toward the center of the town.

Elrohir sighed and went back inside.

Aragorn always needed room to vent after arguments; this Elrohir knew.

~Break~

The streets of Bree were mostly deserted, as Aragorn wandered around it's grey-hued pathways.

He pulled his cloak tighter around him; the late autumn wind was biting.

He walked until he heard fiddle music and men's voices, and saw lights coming from a large building. It was two stories, but made out of cheap, poor-quality wood.

A sign outside declared it to be "The Rosebud Tavern".

"Sorry, Burl." he muttered under his breath, as he pushed the doors open and went inside.

He needed a drink right that minute, he decided.

All thoughts of drink passed out of his mind once he was inside, though.

There was a bar against the right side of the wall, but on the left side was a raised platform, where dirty men were clamored around.

A red-haired woman with a chain around her neck stood on the platform, next to a thin man in a velvet tunic and leggings with fine boots.

The woman's dress was yellow, shining brightly like the clearest of topaz, and was a mocking ray of sunshine next to the woman's heartbroken, terrified face.

Her eyes were glazed and somber, her mouth slack in cruel defeat.

Disgust filled Aragorn as he realized what was happening. He'd heard terrible stories about places like this, places that sold women to men. They got the girls from poor families who had decided to sell their daughters for extra money, from daughters of the other prostitutes, and even from kidnappings.

"Here's one of our regulars, The Fiery Greta! What wouldn't a man pay for a night with our Greta? Guaranteed to keep you warm."

The man winked at the crowd, who hooted and cheered.

"Shall we start the bidding at two silver pennies? Do I hear two silver pennies?"

Men shouted at the platform, as Aragorn stood speechless, too horrified to move.

Her price slowly increased as men warred for her, and eventually her price was decided upon. She sold for six silver pennies.

A cheer went up through the crowd as her new owner claimed her and escorted her down a corridor in the back of the room.

Aragorn wasn't sure what to do. Should he go after her? Could he take on all of these men at once?

"Green, are ya, boy?" A man in the crowd asked him, and all he could do was nod, aghast.

How could something so terrible be allowed to happen?

"That's the last of our regular batch, boys! But don't fret, we've got some new blood for you gents tonight. There are three delicious morsels to be unwrapped. Untasted morsels."

The men in the crowd cheered again, and the man nearest Aragorn whispered, "_Virgins_." with much enthusiasm.

"Here's where bidding can get ugly, boy. Morvan sure knows how to fire people up." he warned Aragorn. "Everyone wants these girlies."

"We've got some for all tastes tonight." The man on the platform declared, dramatically.

"We've got a bronze-skinned savage woman with silky hair down to her knees, a pretty, blonde little country girl, and a buxom, green-eyed darling. All of them young, all of them innocent, all of them ripe for the picking!"

The throng of men cheered louder than before, as a new woman was paraded out in front of the crowd.

Her hands were bound, and there was a chain around her neck, like the woman who'd been sold before her.

Her dress was of crimson satin, flecked on the bodice with tear stains.

Aragorn looked at her face, and gasped.

It was the girl he'd met by the stream when he'd been at the Wild Men's camp! Faeridae!

Her head hung low, her shoulders slumped. Her hair shrouded her face, hiding her expression.

Morvan grabbed her face and forced it upward, pulling the hair back.

"Take a look at this one! With a lovely face like this, you'll not want to blow out your candle! See her fine build, her clear skin, her silky hair! She has been examined and she is guaranteed to be untouched! This is no common whore, but a pure, little, lamb! Of course, the price of our virgins will be higher, but well worth it! We shall start the bidding at five gold pieces!"

"Five and two silvers!" A man across the room declared.

"Oh, no, you're robbing me!" Morvan said.

"Five and four silvers!"

"Robbing me blind, gentlemen!"

More men shouted numbers, as Aragorn stood there, finally, he found his voice, and knew what he had to do. He couldn't fight the entire room, but he could outbid them.

Elrond kept him with full pockets; he never wanted any of his sons to be caught without a cent to their names.

"Ten gold pieces!" He shouted, and the room quieted.

"I hear ten gold pieces!" Morvan shouted. "Anyone else?"

The was no reply.

"Ten gold pieces! Going, going, and-"

"Eleven!" A man called out, and Aragorn looked around to see the face of his challenger.

It was a man around Aragorn's age, dressed well, his eyes bleary from drink, a thin sword at his side. His face was twisted into a mean, ugly smirk.

He looked so sure of winning his prize.

"Twelve!" Aragorn declared.

He had to save this girl. He might not be able to save the others, but he could save this one, at least.

"Boy," the old man near him hissed. "That's the mayor's son, Brenner. He gets what he wants. I'd stay out of his way, if I were you."

Aragorn ignored him.

"Thirteen!" Brenner said, calmly, his hard eyes boring into Aragorn's.

"Fourteen." Aragorn said, his hand going instinctively to the hilt of his sword.

"Twenty." Brenner said, and the crowd gasped.

"Twenty!" Morvan exclaimed. "A new record! Going once-"

"Twenty-one." Aragorn said.

He had forty gold coins with him, he could stay in the bidding for a while longer, at least. _If I have to, _he thought, _I'll bluff, and get more money from Elrohir. _

"Pause the bidding, Morvan. I'd like a word with this stranger. Ricker! Uther!" he said, and two burly men appeared at Brenner's side.

Brenner drew his sword.

"Back down, Stranger, if you know what's good for you."

"What sort of coward fights three to one?" Aragorn challenged, and the crowd began to murmur excitedly.

Bree would be talking about this for a long time.

Aragorn drew his sword as well.

"I do not want to hurt you." Aragorn lied. He wanted to hurt Brenner very, very much.

Brenner scoffed.

"Withdraw your bid."

"I will not. The lady is coming with me."

Aragon looked onto the platform, and locked eyes with the girl.

The terror that had been evident was still there, but there was a glimmer of hope in her eyes that hadn't been there before.

"Did you hear me, Ranger?" Brenner asked, haughtily. "Leave Bree. I don't want to see your face again."

"Twenty-five gold pieces." Aragorn said stubbornly, and Brenner charged at him with his blade.

The crowd exploded with noise, many of them cheering on Brenner, but some were cheering for the foreign Ranger.

A few even began taking bets.

Aragorn deflected Brenner's blow, easily. Brenner proved to be a poor swordsman, compared to Aragorn, who had much more strength and skill.

The fight was yawn-inducing to the Elvish-trained swordsman until Brenner's friends, Ricker and Uther intervened.

They added a bit of challenge to the conflict, but Aragorn quickly dispatched the two of them by pressing a vein in their necks until they passed out.

He took their swords, pinned Brenner to the wall, and did the same.

He heaped his assailants together on the floor in front of an awed crowd, and stepped up onto the platform.

"The girl is mine. Bring the keys for the shackle around her neck."

He freed her wrists by cutting the cords with his sword, and an older woman brought out a key, releasing the girl.

"Can you walk?" he asked Faeridae, who nodded.

He grabbed her hand and they made their way to the door.

"And what of payment, sir?" Mr. Morvan asked him, his eyes glinting with greed.

"I'm leaving your floor unsullied with blood, and letting you keep your life. There's your payment." Aragorn replied.

_Okay, I think that that that kick-butt rescue deserves a review. Lol Please review! I crave your feedback the way college kids crave microwave Ramen! _


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